


Club Thing

by station_oracle



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bukkake, Drinking, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Glam Trash Cecil Palmer, Group Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/station_oracle/pseuds/station_oracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are flowing all around him. Cecil is good at talking, but at the club he'd rather show his love. Less words, more movement. More... other things.</p>
<p>Not everyone likes it, though.</p>
<p>Late night at the club starring glamtrash!Cecil and his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Club Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was meant to be a short PWP one-shot, but then there was plot and Glamtrash!Cecil is such a lovely little thing and he loves getting out of control...  
> So, this chapter is a late birthday present for the wonderful **punkrockgaia**. You have no idea how great impact people like you have on others. Or maybe you do, but you don't want us to know, which is smart. Anyway - thank you.
> 
> ***DISCLAIMER***  
>  This work of fiction depicts actions and behaviours which are considered pretty darn evil and/or manipulative. Do not romanticize this kind of relationship. Do not try this at home. In fact, do not try this anywhere. For Glow Cloud's sake, just be sensible.  
> Also I don't own the characters, I don't even own this AU. Come on, you know that.
> 
> If you like that fic, go thank _**Dangersocks**_. She was a beta here and she's too good for this world (and for my words, really).

They love him.

Cecil twirls between the bodies on the dancefloor, holding on to one strong arm, then the other. His partners smile and whisper to him. Well, they probably scream, but there is all that haze and Cecil feels so light, he believes he could lift off the ground at any time. And the touches, the touches are grounding. Grinding. He breathes in and everything tastes like bubblegum. He breathes out and it’s glitter, the puff of hot air smells nothing like smoke.

There is a feeling of bliss, as foreign hands trail patterns up his sides and Cecil smiles. It’s like the whole world sways together with him in this humid hall, so he puts his hands up to feel that flow better. There is a current and he drifts with it, and so do the hands on his body. It’s all buzzing and tingling, and Cecil sways. He leans back and there is someone to catch him. He feels connected to _Everything_.

Light explodes under his eyelids and everything is intense enough to make him moan. The world pulsates with the heavy rhythm of the music. Cecil melts into the touches. He feels like one of the long-forgotten gods, because there are six hands on his body. He’s got eight hands now, or maybe more. Everything that ever touched him is his. He is one with all of the bodies here. He is the writhing mass.

But then, he could be closer - he is reminded of this fact by chapped lips claiming his neck. Cecil leans away from them, forward, pressing his hips into the man and kissing another. It is all so easy and familiar. Almost all of his hands go down, but there’s one pulling at his hair in a rough caress. He leans to the touch. He is a good god and he is loved.

A push makes him open his eyes. The men around him look at each other with hatred and it’s unacceptable. He needs to consolidate his believers. He must. He is floating above the ground now and everything is clear. He outstretches his arms, welcoming two of them into a shared kiss, all tongue and wet warmth. The other man is still behind him, so Cecil moves his hips. Up and down, every thrust in time with the beat. The two in front are reluctant at first, but Cecil feels that their lips finally touch. These lips are his as well. The erection against his ass is his too. It is perfect and so, so holy.

Cecil’s hands fist in the soft, wet cotton of the shirts of the men in front of him. The fabric clings to his skin as he is being pulled away from behind. The broad-shouldered man, the High Priest as Cecil calls him, leads the way, but there is no chance he would let his believers go. The beautiful haze around vibrates with colours and Cecil knows he mustn’t release his grip. And so they follow.

The High Priest drops him down unceremoniously on the cold, tiled floor. Well, that was his role, after all, wasn’t it? Not to serve the god, but to tame him. Cecil touches his knees. They are aching, but pleasantly so. He is the floor. He is everything here. He awaits an offering. The High Priest shouts at the believers, but Cecil tells him not to. There is so much love, he says. The milky haze that filled his lungs agrees. It is pure emotion. Cecil twines his hands around the legs. There are so many legs around him. He nuzzles his head to a thigh. He purrs. His fingers, surprisingly deft and sensitive, open one zipper, then another and a third one. It’s amazing how he can feel the whole world at his fingertips. The faint tingling travels from his painted nails through his palms, knots at his wrists, then spreads throughout his arms. All just to make his head fuzzy, all reinforced by the mist that’s already there, whispering. Then it goes down, shivers squeezing the thick air out of his lungs, and yet deeper, through his spine and to his groin. When did he got so hard, so blessed?

It doesn’t matter. It’s insubstantial, as there are other hard dicks poking at his face. Someone tries to hold his head by the hair, but he swats the hand away, smiling. He might be on his knees, but he is still their god. Tamed, maybe, but a deity they will pray to. They will chant his name like there’s no tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, he will give himself to them. Let them bask in the holy haze he is full of. Maybe he would even promise them a tomorrow of sorts.

He will break them. Undo them. Then he shall willingly accept their shared offering.

He grips the three of them together and licks. He chooses the one that tastes the sweetest, sickeningly so. His lips wrap around the dick expertly and there is a gasp. Cecil twists his hands on the other two and different sounds follow: a hiss and a low murmur. All is love and haze and touch. He lets them fuck his mouth and his palms, because it doesn’t matter. It’s just him. He is everything, he is sacred. And soon, they will all be truly united inside him.

 

* * *

 

He elbows his way to the bathroom.

“Wow, dude. What’s the rush? You’ve missed it anyway,” says a dark haired man that he bumps into at the door.

“It?”

“That blond kid just sucked three guys at once!”

The realization dawns upon him. He’s not even surprised, just furious as he shoves the guy against the wall.

“Which blond kid? Did he suck you off as well?”

“Dude, no. Chill. I was waiting for my turn, yeah, but the kid just blacked out!”

“What.” He just stands there, blinking, not believing in all the things that are happening. The guy might be saying something, but he doesn’t care. He pushes him away and storms through to the men’s room.

“Ceece? Cecil!?”

“M’eeeere!” the voice is rough and faint, but calm. It’s coming from the last stall and he rushes to open it. Cecil is sprawled on the toilet, fully clothed. Or mostly clothed at least. He doesn’t seem to mind and brightens visibly at the other man.

“Early! Y’ere? For meeee?” he drawls, smiling. His chest quivers in shallow breaths under the net top. His knees are bruised. Earl swallows hard.

“You’re drunk. And high out of your mind.” It’s not a bolt of the blue, he tells himself. He should have been prepared. It’s been worse.

“Maaaaybe,” Cecil grins and pulls at Earl, who stumbles inside. Then, the blond paws at the lock and closes the door behind him. “Mmalso sssoooooo hot for you.” There’s a determination in his voice and movements that surprises the scout.

If the other can guide him so easily in this state, it must be because of the weakness in his knees. Earl sways. He leans over Cecil, one hand on the wall for support - a thing he needs very much. He wouldn’t need it if those pale eyes weren’t looking up at him like that. But then, there’s more. Long fingers pick at his belt.

“Cecil, don’t…” he sighs.

“But I wanna be one w’you, Earrrly,” Cecil all but purrs. The belt is unfastened. Earl puts a hand in Cecil’s hair. It’s gross, damp from sweat and clumped with drying cum. It takes a lot not to flinch, but it’s his best friend. Earl scratches him, studying the expression on the blond’s face. It’s a perfect, beautiful combination, somewhere between bliss and need, with parted lips and hooded eyes. He stops, reminding himself why he is here, and tries to pull Cecil away. His efforts are rewarded with a moan.

“Fuck, Early Birrrrd. I love you ssssoooooo fucking much. Want us t’gether. Now!”

Earl’s jaw clenches. He watches Cecil close his eyes and lean into his touch. Dark eyeliner is smudged, the lipstick is practically gone, but the smile is dangerously sharp.

“Cecil, you sucked half the club. Let’s just get you home,” he attempts.

“Mmmm… All of ‘em.”

“What?” Earl asks as Cecil nuzzles into his thigh and looks up. It’s distracting.

“All. Of. Them,” he repeats with a visible effort. “I sucked all of ‘em. I let all of ‘em fuck me. It’s all me, Earrrrly. I-I am all.”

His voice is a low murmur and it washes over Earl in a way he doesn’t want to admit. His body betrays the lust building up inside him and he hates how obvious it is. Cecil seems to understand the effect he has, finishing his ministrations with the fly.

“You want me, Early? ‘F course y’do. Y’love me. Everyone loves me. Lemme… Lemme just…”

Fingers brush against his still clothed erection and, instantly, Earl picks the wandering hands away. He holds them firmly in place, brushing his thumbs at the slender wrists.

“Ceece, please. Let’s just go home and-” his reasoning breaks, because there is a warm breath ghosting over his dick and it sends sparks up his spine. Then the air is somehow more tangible and when Earl trusts himself to open his eyes and look down, he sees Cecil mouthing at his briefs. Pale hair shines like silver in the dim light and he is so beautifully broken. There is nothing wrong, right? All is well. All is well, but Earl despises himself for thrusting his hips forward, so he backs up against the door, releasing his grip on Cecil’s hands as if their touch burned. And in a way, it did.

“Don’ be like that, Earrrrly. Lemme suck you. I want your fat cock. Now. Pleeeeease, Early,” he whines. It’s heartbreaking, so Earl tries to reassure him by touching his cheek and Cecil smiles and nuzzles and- and then Cecil sucks on his thumb and all is lost. Earl snaps up against the door, feeling the wet warmth and a graze of teeth around his finger. Damn Cecil for how he knows each and every way to undo him. Damn Earl for succumbing. He tries to concentrate on a ceiling lamp, looking at the dead moths trapped in the glass shade. He somehow feels connected to dead insects.

There is a loud pop and Earl’s wet thumb hits the cool air. He feels somehow split from his body, the only important fragment of his consciousness hypnotized by the lamplight. Bright enough to kill, but not giving any warmth.

Some forgotten god must have heard his prayer or read his thoughts, because suddenly there is heat, radiating straight to his core. Just where he needs it, uninvited. He was a good friend and is rewarded by a warm mouth around his dick. Wet lips slide up and down as Earl clenches and unclenches his fists by his sides. He doesn’t want it and he hates himself, but it’s Cecil, it’s just Cecil and they would have done it anyway so why the fuck does he have to act like this, why the fuck is he fighting back tears? It shouldn’t be like that. It makes no sense and Earl notes, with disgust, that he’s fully hard already.

Cecil is making a lot of noise and the obscene sounds reverberate in the cramped stall. The space is filthy, damp with cold condensation on every surface. Earl tries not to think about where it had come from, but images of bodies steaming with sweat invade his mind. It’s gross, so he closes his eyes and pretends his back is not clammy and glued to the door.

Bony fingers dig into his hips and Earl attempts to concentrate on some memory of better times. He touches his neck, remembering the first lovebites he had to hide. He recalls a camping trip years ago, when Cecil sucked him so hard the scout saw stars even though the sky was all void that day. The smile blooms on his face slowly. It finally feels good and Cecil flicks his tongue in that marvellous way, and holy fuck that bastard looks up and smiles, his eyes glazed, and does that again, and oh dark Masters, it feels wonderful. Cecil is humming, he looks like he’s not fully there, glass-like glance now focused on something unseen.

A knot tightens in Earl’s belly and it’s a delicious mix of pleasure and guilt. He feels filthy just looking at Cecil. The scout didn’t choose this, he didn’t want this, yet here he is, moving, fucking Cecil’s throat, and it is wrong and amazing at the same time. He neither knows nor cares when he has fisted a hand in the white strands. Not thinking of the past, he’s deeply rooted in the now, thrusting faster. His breath grows shallow and there is a familiar tingling, and Cecil must somehow know because he changes the rhythm slightly and hollows his cheeks and it pulls Earl over the edge instantly.

It takes some time for him to realize that the low sound surrounding them is his own moan. The other man is still licking enthusiastically at the now oversensitive dick until Earl pulls him away. With his lips unoccupied, Cecil purrs. There’s a sticky trickle of cum on his chin.

“You’re my… You’re th’ best thing about me. An’ you taste sssooooooo gooood, y’know that?” he nuzzles to Earl’s thigh. “I love you, Early.”

“Shut up. You say it to every other guy,” he counters, suddenly mad.

“You dunno that,” the weak, hoarse voice argues. But Earl does know. The stall is again all dirt and unpleasant cold dampness. He looks around it, then sighs.

“Come on, Ceece, we’re going home.”

Cecil pouts, but says nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Kick my ass into writing the next chapter at [my tumblr](http://acidtygr.tumblr.com).  
> Because there will be a next chapter. Shh. Yes. Everything will be okay.


End file.
